


The Only Exception

by PopcornMaster



Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M, Marriage Proposal, Wedding Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2015-12-14
Packaged: 2018-05-06 17:08:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5425067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PopcornMaster/pseuds/PopcornMaster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aslan Hawke is an idiot and Fenris has to travel halfway across Thedas to find his stupid ass again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Only Exception

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Dragon Age Reverse Big Bang 2015. Companion story to [carrionkings](http://carrionkings.tumblr.com) / [porcupinepunk](http://porcupinepunk.tumblr.com%22) art piece of Fenris (that you can find [here](http://porcupinepunk.tumblr.com/post/135217444818/second-darbb-fallwinter-submission-listen-u-all).
> 
> I honestly have no idea what happened, this fic just got a life of its own and rushed off! But I had lots of fun writing it, and it's certainly unusual for a fic about Aslan and Fenris to end up this fluffy and SFW.

It was one late afternoon in early Firstfall. The sun was already setting and the air was cold, but still Hawke sat on the bench outside the modest house, his mabari Cinnamon resting by his feet. Aslan had his back leaned against the wooden wall, enjoying the last rays of sunshine on his face before the nightfall as he waited for his lover to return home, the winter breeze gently dancing in his raven hair, his cheeks already starting to numb from the cold.

It had been just a little more than a year since he and Fenris had stopped running from the Chantry and the templars and decided to settle down, finally feeling somewhat safe from the ire of the Chantry after what had happened in Kirkwall four years ago. They were still in the Free Marches, their small house located just outside a humble village about a day’s travel from Cumberland, where no one could recognize them.

Of course it helped that they called themselves by other names; the villagers knowing them not as Aslan Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall, and his companion Fenris, but instead as Garrett and Leto, just two more refugees fleeing the mage rebellion.

The villagers had been very kind and very helpful, more so than Aslan would have expected, seeing as they were complete strangers when they arrived, and the villagers would have had all the reasons to be suspicious towards them, with the mage-templar war going on, but it seemed like it was true what people said; suffering breeds compassion.

“Garrett!”

 _Speaking of villagers_ , Aslan thought as he slowly opened his eyes and turned to look at the young woman that came towards him at a half-sprint, a little out of breath. Cinnamon got up and looked at him for a moment before taking off to meet their visitor, happily barking a greeting at her. As she got closer, he could see that she held something in her arms, a small basket covered by a cloth, and he caught a whiff of what smelled like freshly baked bread.

“Good evening, Ophelia,” he greeted her with a smirk curving his lips as he stood up. “What brings you all the way out here?”

The girl met his smile with a slightly embarrassed one of her own as she petted the mabari on her head. “A messenger came to the village with a letter for you, and I said I could deliver it in their stead. And mother was baking bread and told me to bring some with to give to you.” She held out the basket towards him and Aslan could see the letter tucked in at the side.

“Thank you,” he said, his smile widened slightly as he took the basket from her. “You spoil us too much.” He couldn’t help to feel a small twinge of guilt as he wondered if they would be as kind if they knew he was partially responsible for the mage rebellion. He knew that it was necessary if things were ever going to get better for the mages, but he couldn’t help but to feel guilty over the fact that a lot of innocent people had gotten caught in all the fighting. But it was too late for regrets now.

“Garrett?”

He snapped out of his thoughts when he heard Ophelia call him by his alias, and saw her looking up at him, eyebrows pushed together in concern. He grinned even wider than before and gently patted her upper arm to chase away her concern. “It’s nothing! I was just thinking how much Leto is going to enjoy having some bread with tonight’s dinner.”

“Oh,” she replied quietly, nodding slowly, looking slightly let down as he had reminded her of Fenris’ existence. Aslan knew the girl had a small crush on him, and though he felt bad reminding her that he was already spoken for, he’d feel worse if he let her hold out hope for something that was never going to happen – even if he wasn’t taken already.

“Which reminds me,” he continued with a short laugh after a moment, “I better make sure that the stew hasn’t burned over the fire!” He adjusted his grip on the basket and gave her another smile. “Would you like to join us for dinner, Ophelia?”

“Oh, uh…” she stuttered, her eyes widening slightly with surprise, before shaking her head. “No, um… thank you. I have to… I-I only came to leave the letter and the bread.”

Cinnamon let out a disappointed whine and lightly head-butted Ophelia’s knee.

“That’s too bad,” he replied, the smile still curving his lips as it always did. “Well, thank you again, sweetheart. I hope you have a safe walk home. And say thank you to your mother for me.”

“Thank you, Garrett,” Ophelia responded, and managed to smile back at him. “I will.”

He watched her turn around and walk back the way she came, only turning around once to wave goodbye, and he raised his hand back in a farewell to her before turning to go back inside the small, two-room house.

Aslan closed the wooden door behind him as he walked into the house, moving to the undersized kitchen and put down the basket with bread on the table before going over to the fireplace, Cinnamon following closely behind him, lying down next to the hearth. He checked on the stew that was slowly cooking over the fire, stirred it with the wooden ladle a few times, and judged it ready to eat once Fenris came back home from his trip into the village. He put the lid back on the pot, gently scratched Cinnamon behind her ear before he moved to sit down at the table, taking out the letter from the basket that Ophelia had brought him.

He had guessed that the letter was from Varric even before he opened it; he was the only one that kept in regular contact with him and Fenris after the two of them had separated from the rest of their companions, and a quick glance to the end of the letter confirmed his suspicions. The only other one that had written him was Carver, and it had only been once that he had received a letter from his younger brother; Carver writing to let him know that he was leaving Kirkwall to join the Inquisition as Knight-Commander Cullen had done. After that, Varric had written him saying that Carver seemed to think it was more than enough that only one of them wrote letters, seeing as they both had ended up with the Inquisition, and Carver had even left it up to Varric to notify him that they both had survived the explosion at the Conclave in Haven.

His eyes moved to the top of the letter, and he began reading.

 

> _Hawke,_
> 
> _It’s been a while since my last letter. Mostly because the Seeker and the Herald keeps me as busy as you used to do back in Kirkwall. How are things on the right side of the Amaranthine Sea? Carver says hello, or at least he would if he wasn’t such an ass._
> 
> _Things are shit over here; the weather is shit, I’ve been dragged across Ferelden and Orlais and back to Ferelden again and everything here smells like wet dog. Not to mention the ale here TASTES like wet dog. Would it kill them to find some real, decent brews to serve at the taverns here? Andraste’s ass, the shit they served at The Hanged Man tasted like piss most of the time, but it was still better than the swill they serve here._

 

Aslan let out a short laugh, looking over to his mabari, who looked up at him from where she lay, cocking her head slightly to the side. “Looks like Varric isn’t doing too well over in Ferelden, he says everything smells like wet dog.” Cinnamon barked disapprovingly. “I know. Ferelden doesn’t smell _that_ bad.” The mabari growled at him menacingly and he laughed, raising his hands in front of himself. “I’m joking! You smell like sunshine and flowers when you’re wet.”

Cinnamon let out another low bark before laying her head back down on the floor again, and Aslan chuckled once more, his sight falling again to the letter and he continued to read.

 

> _Believe it or not, but I have officially joined the Inquisition since my last letter. They formally named the Herald of Andraste the Inquisitor, and Genevieve… She’s still just a kid, but I actually believe she might be able to fix this whole mess._
> 
> _The reason I’m writing you now though isn’t just to complain, but because we have a problem. Remember that darkspawn magister that we killed in that Grey Warden prison tower – Corypheus? Well, the blighted thing is alive and it’s what blew up the Conclave, and attacked the Inquisition at Haven._
> 
> _I hate to ask this of you, Hawke, knowing that you and Fenris are trying to stay out of all this Chantry bullshit, but you know more about Corypheus than anyone else and we could really use your help to fight him, or at least find out what you know about him._
> 
> _Please come to Skyhold and meet with the Inquisitor. At the very least I’ll be here and I’m willing to let you win a few rounds of Wicked Grace against me, if you do come. You can even bring that broody paramour of yours, too. I actually kind of miss the way you two bicker like an old married couple._
> 
> _Varric._

 

Aslan read the letter again, and he then reread the middle part of it again, not believing what he was seeing. Corypheus? Alive? That couldn’t be possible. They killed him at the prison tower, there was nothing left but a burning husk when they left, and there would be no possible way for Corypheus to have–

“Hawke? What are you reading?”

He snapped out of his thoughts when he heard the familiar voice call his name, and looked up from the letter, seeing Fenris coming in through the front door. Cinnamon eagerly got up from her spot by the fireplace and then hurrying over to greet her other master.

Aslan quickly folded the letter back together and got up from his chair as Fenris walked up to him, and he gave his lover a wide grin.

“Just a letter from Varric,” he replied, putting the letter down on the table before walking over to Fenris to meet him halfway, wrapping his arms around him and nuzzling his face down against his neck, Fenris letting out an annoyed grumble before doing the same.

“What did he want?”

“He’s not even here and you’re acting like he wants us to go on a suspicious quest in a dark and damp dungeon?” Aslan chuckled as he pulled away a few inches to peer into his face.

Fenris rolled his eyes and grunted, “That’s usually the case with Varric, isn’t it?”

“Don’t worry, he’s just complaining about the weather in Ferelden, and how much he misses me,” he replied with a shrug and a crooked grin. “It’s a draft for a continuation of his book about me, so relax, you’re just being paranoid. Dinner is ready, and we got some freshly baked bread.”

“You baked bread?” The elf asked, eyebrows raised when he glanced over his shoulder at Aslan for a second as he walked over to the shelves in the kitchen, taking down two bowls and cutlery to put on the table, but Aslan walked up behind him and took the bowls from his hands and then moved over to the fireplace to fill them up with stew.

“That would’ve been a sight, wouldn’t it?” he replied with a chortle. “Ophelia came by and gave the bread with the letter.”

He put down the bowls of stew on the table and sat down, Fenris sitting down across from him, reaching for his bowl, but then picked up the folded letter instead and Aslan barely reacted fast enough to snatch it from his hand before he opened it up.

“Don’t you know it’s impolite to read other people’s letters?” he said with a smirk before raising a spoonful of stew to his mouth. “I told you, it’s nothing important.”

Fenris gave him a long, steady glare before he started eating as well. “Then why can’t I read the letter?” he asked after he swallowed a mouthful of food.

“No reason,” Aslan replied with a shrug as he continued to eat.

“So can I read it then?” Fenris reached out for the letter again, and once more Aslan pulled it out of his reach.

“Nope!” Aslan put the last spoon of stew in his mouth before he continued. “The draft is full of my dark secrets, a confession of Varric’s undying love for me and a naughty poem about you and me, and he wrote specifically not to let you read it before the book was finished.” He put his elbows on the table and leaned his chin into his hand, studying Fenris as a smirk curled the corners of his mouth. “Although if you promise not to tell him, I suppose I could let you read… I’m warning you though; you’re definitely going to regret it if you do.”

Fenris rolled his eyes and let out a loud sigh, and it seemed like he was giving up as he continued to eat without saying anything.

Aslan didn’t know if Fenris actually believed his lie about the letter, but he was grateful that he hadn’t tried to push him into telling the truth. He didn’t like to lie to his elven lover, but he was worried about how Fenris might react if he found out the truth about what Varric had written about. He didn’t even know himself how to react to finding out that not only was Corypheus somehow still alive, but that he was the one behind the Breach. A part of him just wanted to stay out of it all, leave dealing with Corypheus and the Breach to Varric and the Inquisition, but another part of him felt responsible. He let out Corypheus into the world, it was his fault that everything that had happened, happened.

He knew his conscience would never allow him to just sit back and do nothing to help, but he couldn’t bear to put Fenris at risk. If he was going to travel to Skyhold to meet with the Inquisitor and help her stop Corypheus, he definitely would not bring Fenris with him. This was the one thing he couldn’t get him involved in.

“Hawke.”

Aslan snapped out of his thoughts and looked up at Fenris with a smile. “Hm?”

“I asked you if you wanted seconds three times,” Fenris continued, eyebrows pushed together in concern. “What’s going on? Are you-“

“Marry me,” Aslan interrupted Fenris, the words coming out of his mouth before he even realized what he was saying.

Hawke had never been the marrying type, and he had never even given it a single thought for all the years that he and Fenris had been together, but somehow, now that he had spoken those words, it felt right. He might’ve said it in the spur of the moment, without thinking, but now as he look at Fenris, his moss green eyes wider than he had ever seen them, he realized he wanted nothing more than to become this man’s husband.

A lifetime seemed to pass before Fenris finally opened his mouth, his voice just a hoarse breath. “What?”

Aslan’s lips curled into a gentle smile and he reached out to lace his fingers with his lover’s across the table and he whispered the question a second time. “Will you marry me, Fenris?”

“Marry you?”

“Yeah, let’s get married,” he answered, his voice somewhat louder now than before, and he clapped his hands together. “Tomorrow. Let’s go to the village Chantry tomorrow and ask a Mother to wed us.”

The look of surprise on Fenris’ face faded and was replaced by a small frown. “Are you joking?”

“Why do you ask if I’m joking?” Aslan asked in return, his smile widening even more, as if trying to push away the feeling of dread, trying to swallow the lump that had started to form in his throat because Fenris still hasn’t given him an answer. He let out a short laugh, even he hearing how forced it sounded. “You don’t want to marry me, do you?” He took both of Fenris’ hands in his own again, running his thumbs over his knuckles.

“I…” Fenris drew in an unsteady breath, his eyebrows knitting together and he avoided looking directly at Aslan.

“It’s ok,” Aslan said with a low chuckle, letting go of Fenris’ hand as he got up from his chair, forcing a smirk even though he felt like Fenris had reached into his chest and ripped his heart out. “It was a spur of the moment thing; you don’t have to take it so seriously.”

Fenris’ head snapped up in his direction, his eyes fixed into a steady glare.

“Oh,” Aslan sighed, fighting to keep the smile on his face. “Please don’t look at me like that, Fenris.” He leaned down slightly, brushing away a strand of Fenris’ snow white hair that had grown so long during the past years. His thumb brushed against his cheekbone for a moment before he withdrew his hand, leaning down to briefly press his lips against Fenris’ cheek in a soft peck. “I’m going to bed. Join me soon?” He turned around to leave the kitchen when he felt a strong hand grip his wrist and he looked over to see his lover rising up from his chair.

“Something happened, didn’t it?” Fenris asked, tightening his grip on Hawke’s wrist. “What’s going on? Aslan, tell me what was in Varric’s letter.”

Aslan smiled as brilliantly as ever. “Why do you think something’s going on?”

“You’re acting strange.”

“You would know, wouldn’t you?” he laughed softly.

Fenris didn’t reply, just a pleading look in his eyes asking for Aslan to tell him the truth.

He let out a short chuckle again before sighing quietly, his bright blue eyes holding a gentle twinkle. “You know me too well, you know that?” He paused for a moment, breaking eye contact and shaking his head. “It’s a long story and I’m tired. Can we talk about it tomorrow?”

The elf let out a low groan and let go of his wrist. “You are infuriating.”

“I love you, too,” he replied and leaned in to capture his lover’s lips in a gentle kiss. “Let’s go to bed.”

 

* * *

 

Almost twenty days had passed since that night when Fenris had come home to find Hawke reading a letter. Aslan had tried to convince him that Varric’s letter hadn’t been about anything important, but eventually he had given in, promising Fenris that he would tell the truth the next morning, but instead he had woken up to an empty bed and a letter from his lover explaining that he had gone to help Varric, and little else.

He clutched the piece of paper in his hands, having read the letter so many times during these past few weeks that he could recite it backwards in his sleep, the words etched into his mind.

 

> _Fenris, my love,_
> 
> _I’m sorry I left without waking you, and I’m sorry I left without telling you anything. I know this letter will not explain it all, but I hope that it will be enough._
> 
> _You were right about the letter that Varric sent, he was asking for our help. But I don’t want to drag you into this; it is something I have to do on my own, so please… Don’t try to follow me, just stay at home and wait for me. I know you, and I know you would die to protect me, and I can’t risk losing you to this stupid war._
> 
> _I promise you that I’ll be back before you know it. I’m sure you won’t even have time to miss me before I’m back, so just trust me this one time and don’t come after me. Stay at home, take care of Cinnamon for me._
> 
> _I love you._

 

He still remembered the panic and dread that he had felt when he first read the letter. He had tried to find the letter from Varric, hoping that it would explain where Hawke had gone, what the dwarf had needed his help for, but he couldn’t find it anywhere and he knew that Aslan must have taken it with him when he left.

His first thought had been to chase after Hawke, and he had hurriedly packed a bag to go after his lover, but when he read the letter again, he could practically hear Aslan’s voice pleading him not to.

_“Stay at home.”_

So he had. He stayed at home. Gone on with his usual life as much as he could, every day waiting for Hawke to come back home, or for a letter to tell him where he had gone. He had done his best to not worry about Hawke, but going this long without hearing a single word from him was starting to wear on him much more than he was willing to admit.

Fenris looked down at the letter in his hands again before running his hands through his hair, groaning in frustration.

That last night before Hawke had left had run through his mind over and over since then, and each time it became clearer how strangely Aslan had acted and Fenris regretted not having pushed him into telling him what was going on. Living like this without even knowing where Hawke was, if he was still even alive…

He snapped out of his thoughts when he noticed something – someone – nudge his leg, and he looked down to see Cinnamon sitting next to him, looking up at him as she laid down her chin on his lap, letting out a low whine.

“I know,” Fenris said quietly and gently scratched her behind her ears. “I’m worried about your idiot master too.”

He still remembered it so clearly, sitting across the table less than a month ago, eating supper together. Hawke had been so out of it and then he had…

_“Marry me.”_

Fenris had gone over that moment over and over in his mind so many times, trying to figure out if he had actually been serious when he proposed, but no matter how he tried to convince himself that it was just another one of Hawke’s bad jokes, the feeling that it had been just the opposite grew larger with every minute that passed.

_“Will you marry me, Fenris?”_

Fenris sighed, pushing his long hair back before looking over to Cinnamon again. “I should’ve just said yes, shouldn’t I?” he asked her and she gave him a short bark in response. “I just… never thought he’d want to get married.”

He got up from his chair and Cinnamon stood up next to him, cocking her head to the side as he walked to the bedroom and started packing a bag. “We’re going to find that idiot master of yours and bring him back home again.”

The mabari gave another bark in response, a lot more energetic than before.

He couldn’t stand to just sit around and wait any longer for Hawke to come back home. Twenty days was enough. The last thing he had heard from Varric, he was still in Kirkwall, so he should still be there, or maybe he would at least find someone who could give him a clue or point him in the right direction.

He opened the small closet in the bedroom and dug out his old armor. He hadn’t worn it in months. Not since they had settled down in this house. He held the chest piece in his hands for a few minutes, just looking at it for a while, his fingers sliding across dents and cut marks. It was more than a few years old, but it had still managed to survive this long somehow, and it was better than nothing.

He strapped the chest piece, and then his gauntlets, onto himself, surprised by how odd it felt to wear his armor again after so long. After settling down in the village and moving into this house, he had never really needed to wear it, the area blessed by little involvement with the mage rebellion.

Once his armor was in the right place, he tucked a few extra changes of clothes into his pack before moving from the bedroom back to the kitchen, packing as much supplies as he could fit into the pack and strapped his water skin onto his hip.

Before he left the house he took down his two-handed sword from where it had been hanging on the wall for the past few months, where Hawke’s staff had been too up until three weeks ago, holding it in his hands for a few moments before strapping it on his back and then putting on his bag over it.

Fenris opened the door before turning slightly towards Cinnamon and calling for her. “Let’s go find that idiot mage, shall we?” The mabari let out a low bark in approval and followed him out the door as he left, letting the wooden door swing closed behind with a bang.

“You’d better be safe, Hawke,” he mumbled quietly to himself, his voice tinged with a small tremble, as he left their house behind him, walking at a fast pace. “You’d better still be alive.”

 

* * *

 

A setting sun dyed the City of Chains a fiery shade of red, reminding Fenris of the sight when he had left all those years ago with Hawke, the whole city engulfed in the flames and chaos left by the fighting between the templars and the mages.

Fenris didn’t know how long exactly he had been on the road, too worried about Hawke to count the days since he had left their home outside Cumberland to find his mage lover. Six days. Maybe seven. He had travelled as fast as he possibly could, barely resting at all, not wanting to waste a single moment to reach Kirkwall. He was exhausted, and he could tell that Cinnamon was too, which wasn’t that unsurprising; the mabari was starting to get old and it only followed that she wouldn’t have as much energy as she did ten years ago and could run for days without needing much rest.

But he was almost there, back at their usual haunt when they still lived in the city, when Hawke was still considered the Champion of Kirkwall and not a dangerous apostate, wanted by the Chantry, and someone who needed to be caught.

Most of the city had been rebuilt after the explosion. He hadn’t seen Hightown yet, but even Lowtown seemed to have recovered more than he had thought, though some of the old buildings he remembered were still gone, or barely more than a ruin. Hawke’s uncle’s old home hadn’t been rebuilt, but as far as he knew, Gamlen had moved into the Hightown mansion after they had left.

Most people didn’t seem to recognize him as one of the Champion’s former companions, luckily enough. Those who did didn’t seem to care, or they stayed out of his way. He seemed to pass as unnoticed as most other elves did in the city, just as unnoticed as he had done ten years ago. At any other time, he would’ve preferred it that way, but now… maybe it would be better if someone recognized him, because then he might be able to find out something about Hawke’s, or at least maybe Varric’s, whereabouts.

Before he knew it, his feet had carried him to The Hanged Man. Even just standing outside, he could sense the smell coming from the place and he felt his stomach twist and churn, and he looked down at the mabari by his side.

“That’s a smell I haven’t missed,” he mumbled, letting out a low chuckle when Cinnamon faked a gagging noise in response. “Well, let’s go see if Varric is still living in this dump.”

He opened the door, scrunching up his nose as the stench became even more obvious when he walked inside the bar. Inside, the view was the same as it had always been; men and women sitting by the tables, drinking, some together and others alone. Some were passed out in the corners of the room and a fight was being broken up by some guardsmen, two of them leading a cursing man who reeked of alcohol out through the door just as he walked inside.

“Fenris?”

As he heard his name being called in a familiar voice, Fenris turned back inside, his eyes scanning the room for the person who had called for him. “Donnic?”

“Fenris! And you have Cinnamon with you!” the guardsman.  exclaimed, walking up to him with a grin on his face, stopping by Fenris’ side and clasped his shoulder before bending down to greet the mabari. “I haven’t seen you in years! How are things? Is Hawke with you?”

“No,” was his short reply as they stepped out of the way to let the rest of the guardsmen as they struggled to lead a second man out through the door. “That’s why I’m here.”

Donnic raised his eyebrows at the response. “What do you mean?”

“I’m looking for him,” he answered, letting out a tired sigh. “He came to help Varric with something, and I’m trying to find them.”

“I haven’t seen Varric in Kirkwall in almost a year,” Donnic said, shaking his head slowly as he looked quizzically at Fenris.

Fenris facial expression turned into a frown and he almost growled. “What?”

“I don’t really know where he went,” the guardsman replied, reaching his gauntleted hand back to rub his stiff neck. “I think he went to Ferelden, but Aveline should know more. I know he’s written to her a few times since he left.”

“I need to talk to her.”

Donnic simply nodded in response, gesturing with his chin for Fenris to follow him as he walked out of the Hanged Man.

Their pace was fast as they walked through Lowtown, heading up through the city to the Viscount’s Keep, where Aveline was still working as the Captain of the Guard. Neither of them said anything, though Fenris could tell that Donnic had something he wanted to ask about. Hawke, he guessed, but he was grateful that the guardsman seemed to realize that he didn’t want to answer any questions right now.

Hightown seemed to have recovered faster and far better than Lowtown, most of the buildings even more pristine, in even better condition, than they had been before the Chantry’s destruction. Fenris wasn’t surprised. Of course the nobles of the Kirkwall would make sure that their living standards were what they were used to before they could see to the rest of the city. The nobles of the Free Marches were no different than any other nobles in Thedas.

Soon the high walls of the keep rose above and around them, and as they walked up the long steps Donnic finally broke the silence.

“Did you hear about the explosion at the Conclave in Ferelden?” he asked in a slightly hushed voice.

Fenris swallowed hard. “Yes.” He didn’t know much about what had been going on, but even he and Hawke, who had been living as far away enough from civilization as they didn’t need to worry too much about the templars and the Chantry, had heard about the summit that the Divine had called for in an attempt to broker peace between the mages and the templars, and the explosion that had torn the sky.

Silence fell over them again. Fenris knew that that couldn’t have been the only thing that the guardsman wanted to ask him, and the longer the quiet dragged on between them, the more worried he became of what Donnic would ask him.

“Do you think that Hawke…?” Donnic stopped moving right before the large entrance that led to the Viscount’s Keep, his words trailing off as he faced Fenris.

He didn’t reply. Fenris honestly didn’t want to think about it, but Hawke had left after getting that letter from Varric, and if the dwarf wasn’t here, but in Ferelden, then… When they first had heard about the explosion, about the Breach, he had been so scared that Aslan would want to try to help in some way, but he had assured Fenris that this was something that he couldn’t do anything about so it would be better to just stay out of it. And they had. Something must’ve changed if that’s why Hawke left.

A few moments passed as Donnic waited for a reply from him, but when he realized none would come, he pushed open the large door and headed inside, Fenris and Cinnamon following after him, walking the rest of the way to the barracks in silence.

Once outside Aveline’s office, Donnic knocked twice on the door before calling out for her as he opened it. “Guard-Captain?”

“Donnic, did you-?” Aveline began to say, but stopped in the middle of her sentence as she looked up from the papers on her desk and saw Fenris standing next to her husband, her eyes widening. “Fenris?”

“Aveline,” he greeted her.

“Your hair got long,” she said in an amused voice as she got up from her chair and walked around her desk, stopping just in front of him and leaned back against the table.

The corners of his lips curled into a small grin as he responded, “And yours became shorter.”

Aveline let out a short chuckle.

“I’m going to let you two talk alone,” Donnic said with a crooked grin and turned to walk out the way they came, but not before he gave Fenris a pat on the shoulder. “It was good seeing you again.”

Fenris only gave him a small nod in response as Donnic walked through the door, closing it behind him with a low thud, and then he turned to the redheaded woman again.

“I didn’t think I’d see you here again,” she said after a few moments of silence.

“I’m looking for Hawke.”

“For Hawke?” she asked with raised eyebrows as she crossed her arms over her chest. “The last time I saw him was you two left Kirkwall.”

Fenris clenched his jaw momentarily, biting back the frustration and worry he felt after hearing those words. “What about Varric?”

“What about him?” she asked, cocking her head slightly to the side, and Fenris couldn’t hide the frown that furrowed his brows when she did.

“Have you seen or heard from him?” he growled, gritting his teeth.

“I see your mood hasn’t improved.”

He gave her no response, only a steady glare that told her he had no patience for her to beat around the bush.

Aveline sighed deeply, shaking her head slowly before saying anything. “Varric’s in Ferelden.”

“I know,” he hissed almost as soon as the words came out of her mouth. “Donnic said that much already.”

“And I was just about to tell you more, if you would let me finish,” she replied with just as much bite in her words as there had been in his, causing Fenris to break eye contact with her, dropping his gaze to the floor as he bit his lower lip.

Once again she let out a sigh. “I know you must be worried about Hawke, but I am trying to help you, Fenris.” She paused again for a few moments, waiting for him to meet her eyes again before she continued. “About a year and half ago, a Seeker came to Kirkwall, looking for Varric, wanted to ask him some questions about Hawke. Seeker Pentaghast, I think. After he told her the whole story, she brought him with her to Ferelden.” Aveline straightened herself and walked back around her desk, rummaging through the papers for a few moments before looking up again, handing over a piece of paper to him before she continued. “I got a letter from Varric a few weeks ago, saying he was in Ferelden and wanted me to take care of some business for him, because he was going to stay with the Inquisition for a while longer than he originally planned.”

Fenris looked down on the paper she had given him, finding it to be a letter from Varric. The more he read of the letter, the more he felt his stomach twist. When he got to the last paragraph of the letter, he felt as if his heart had stopped, the blood turning to ice in his veins.

“Corypheus?” he said, his hands trembling slightly as he still couldn’t tear his eyes away from the letter. “But Corypheus is dead.”

“He should be, but he isn’t,” Aveline replied in a low voice. “I couldn’t believe it at first either, but I’ve gotten reports from all over, confirming that it’s actually Corypheus.” She sighed, and Fenris finally looked up to meet her gaze again. “Hawke didn’t tell you any of this before he left?”

He slowly shook his head, the knot in his stomach growing even larger. Cinnamon let out a low whine as she softly butted her head against his leg before gazing up at him and he reached down with a hand to gently pet her head.

“Maker’s breath, Hawke,” Aveline grumbled, reaching up a hand to massage her temple. “Skyhold, that’s the Inquisition stronghold. It’s a fortress in Ferelden, in the Frostback Mountains. It shouldn’t be hard to get there, more pilgrims travel there each day.”

“Thank you, Aveline,” he said quietly, looking down at the letter one last time before handing it back to her. “Let’s go, Cinnamon.” He turned around and walked over to the door, just about to open it and leave when the Guard-Captain called out for him.

“Fenris, you’re free to stay with me and Donnic for a few days if-“

“No,” he interrupted her and opened the door. “I’m leaving now.”

Aveline sighed one last time and let out a short chuckle. “Give Hawke and Varric a hit in the head from me.”

Fenris felt a small smile tug at the corners of his mouth as he turned around to look at her a last time. “I will.”

 

* * *

 

After he left Kirkwall, Fenris had spent almost two weeks travelling, first by ship and then on foot. At first he had thought that Cinnamon’s almost endless whining had been caused by them being on the sea, but when she had continued to whine even after they reached the shores of Ferelden. When they occasionally set up camp or even just rested for a little while, the mabari would lie next to him, her head on his lap, and softly whimper, and Fenris realized that she was just as worried about Hawke as he was.

When they had docked in Denerim thirteen days ago, he had barely stepped off the boat before he heard rumors about the Inquisition and their assault on the Wardens at the Adamant fortress, aided by Hawke. He had tried to learn more, but there were few people who seemed to know what had really happened, and the conflicting stories did nothing to calm his worries.

But now, Skyhold was finally within reach. Half a day had passed since Fenris first spotted the fortress in the distance and now he and Cinnamon were finally across the bridge leading to the Inquisition stronghold, and he was moving so fast that he was almost running to reach the courtyard. At any other time, he probably would’ve been admiring the enormity of Skyhold, but right now all he could think about was finding Hawke, Fenris even ignoring his sore and aching limbs and praying to whoever was listening that his lover would be safe.

As soon as he stepped through the gates, his eyes scanned across the lower courtyard, searching for any sign of Aslan, or someone who might be able to help him, when a woman, dressed in a soldier’s uniform, stopped by his side, peering into his face.

“Can I help you with something?” she asked with a gentle grin on her lips.

“I’m, uh…” He looked at her for just a second before his eyes scanned across the faces of all the people in the courtyard. He cleared his throat before continuing. “I’m looking for Hawke.”

“Oh?” she said, a look of surprise flashing across her features for a moment. “I think Hawke returned from Adamant together with the Inquisitor and her closest companions a few days ago, but I don’t know where exactly he is right now.”

Fenris almost let out a sigh of relief, feeling his whole body relax and his knees nearly buckled underneath him and he had to struggle to keep himself upright, a wave of relief washing over him after just hearing that Aslan was still alive. Then he heard a familiar voice call out his name and he straightened himself, turning to look in the direction the voice had come from.

“Fenris?” A few dozen feet from him stood a tall figure that he recognized immediately, though Fenris recognized Carver from just his exasperated tone of voice. Cinnamon gave off an excited bark as she noticed the younger Hawke brother, running off to greet him.

“Oh, this is…?” the soldier said with raised eyebrows and a grin widened her lips, her eyes wandering back and forth between himself and Carver. “This is _the_ Fenris?”

“I can take care of this, Vera,” he said, but his expression suggested that he wanted to do anything but take care of it, though considering that it involved getting anywhere near his brother, it wasn’t anything unusual.

She glanced quickly between Fenris and Carver before smiling briefly. “Alright.”

The two of them stood in silence as they watched the soldier leave them, and they stayed that way for a while until Carver broke the stillness by letting out a loud sigh. “I suppose you’re here for my idiot of a brother.”

“I am,” he replied.

“I should’ve guessed that he lied when he said you were ok with him coming on his own,” he continued with a roll of his eyes. He sighed again and then motioned for Fenris to follow him with a nod of his chin as he started walking up the stair to the upper courtyard. “At least now I won’t have to constantly keep an eye on him so he doesn’t faint outside the stables again.”

“What?” Fenris growled, a scowl on his face as he grabbed the other man by his arm, halting his steps.

Carver let out a low groan, turning around to make eye contact with the elf. “Aslan got injured pretty badly at Adamant. He’s better now, but as soon as he got back here, he tried to leave even though he had a bad fever, so he passed out. He’s ok now, back to his usual obnoxious self.”

“Where is he?”

 

Aslan was spending his afternoon in the main hall of the Skyhold castle, laughing and chatting time away with Varric, Inquisitor Genevieve and the mage from Tevinter, Dorian, the last of them teaching the rest a few words in his native tongue.

“Mea lux?” Aslan asked, looking over to Dorian as he leaned his elbow on the table, resting his chin in his palm. “Did I say that right? What does it mean?”

“It means ‘my light’,” Dorian replied and swirled the last of the wine around in his chalice. “And your pronunciation is very good, Champion.”

“Well, he’s had more than a decade of being cursed at in Tevene, Sparkler,” Varric chuckled. “I’d be surprised if Hawke hadn’t picked up on at least a little bit of the language.”

Aslan pursed his lips at his former dwarven companion before he said, “Well, I know why _I_ want to learn how to sweet talk someone in Tevene.” He turned his gaze over to Genevieve, a grin widening his full lips. “But who do you want to sweet talk, Inquisitor?”

Genevieve’s cheek flushed almost instantly and her golden eyes widened. “No, I’m just-!”

“Oh, us Tevinter men seems to be more popular down here in the South than one would think,” Dorian interrupted her, winking at the Inquisitor.

“I’m not interested-!”

“How intriguing!” Aslan said with glee, being the one to interrupt her this time, enjoying the sight of her cheeks turning an even darker shade of red. “Do tell me more, Inquisitor!”

“That’s not what I-!” Genevieve started to say, but interrupted herself, her eyes looking somewhere behind him, and before he could turn around to see what she saw, Aslan felt someone grabbing onto the collar of his shirt, pulling him up to his feet and then exploding pain as a fist connected with his jaw and he fell backwards onto the floor. For a few moments his brain tried to catch up on what had just happened – his chin throbbing with pain and he could taste metal in his mouth – but as soon as he looked up from the floor and saw Fenris standing in front of him, the pain, the people around him… everything else disappeared.

“You idiot mage!” Fenris yelled as he once again grabbed the collar of his shirt, pulling him back up to his feet, and for a second he almost expected to get punched again. “Do you have any idea what you put me through these past months?! _Festis bei umo canavarum_!”

Aslan could barely believe his own eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, but it was as if no words would come out, so instead he just stood there, staring at Fenris as if he hadn’t seen him for years, or at least that’s how long it felt like it had been. It wasn’t until Fenris’ eyebrows knitted together, a look of concern flashing across his face and he loosened his grip on his shirt that Aslan even realized that he had tears streaming down his cheeks.

“Hawke, I’m sorry that I hit you, I didn’t…” Fenris started to pull away, but he barely had time to move an inch before Aslan had pulled him into his arms, burying his face in his neck, leaving Fenris just as stunned as Hawke had been only a minute ago.

“I made a mistake coming here without you,” he mumbled into the crook of his lover’s neck, tightening his hold on him and breathing in an unsteady breath as he vowed to himself to never let go of Fenris again.

He pulled back, if only just enough that he could see the surprise on Fenris’ face and he smiled weakly. “I’m sorry, Fenris. I thought I could do it on my own and I didn’t want you to be involved in this, but I was wrong.”

The look of surprise turned into a small frown on Fenris’ face and he pressed his forehead to Hawke’s, his hand coming up to fist in his black hair. “Damn right, you were wrong. You took at least ten years off my life, you ass.”

Aslan’s smile widened slightly. “Then can I take the rest of your life too?”

Fenris drew in an unsteady breath. “What?”

Just as Aslan was about to respond, he was interrupted by a loud groan that reminded both of them that they weren’t alone in the main hall, and when he looked over Fenris’ shoulder, he saw his younger brother rolling his eyes and muttering something about an idiot couple as he left the main hall, which he could assume was in reference to him and Fenris.

“Are they always like this?” the Inquisitor whispered as she leaned over to Varric, both of them obviously having trouble holding back their laughter.

“Yeah,” Varric chuckled in response. “I thought I had enough of their bickering and corny love confessions after my seven years in Kirkwall with them, but well, shit… I think I’ve actually missed it.”

“So sorry, Varric,” Aslan chuckled before he pulled away from Fenris and sat down at the table again, but not before taking his lover’s hand and pulling him along, ignoring the frown on Fenris’ face that usually followed when he became embarrassed over being caught showing affection towards Aslan. “But I don’t plan on sharing Fenris with anyone, even if it’s you.”

“My heart is broken,” Varric responded with a grin as he got up from his chair, placing his hand over his chest and solemnly shaking his head. “I’m going to leave while I still have my dignity. Fenris probably has some more yelling to do anyway, and I’m sure you prefer to do that without an audience.” After having been nudged by Varric, both the Inquisitor and Dorian got up from their chairs as well.

“I’m sure there’s some Inquisition business that needs your attention, Genevieve, or perhaps you’d like to practice speaking Tevene with a certain someone over at the Herald’s Rest?” Dorian said, placing a hand between her shoulders as he flashed a grin to Aslan and Fenris, leading away a red-faced and stammering Inquisitor.

After watching the others leave, Aslan turned to gaze at Fenris, an unusually gentle smile playing across his lips as the two of them sat together in silence for a few moments. He reached up a hand, brushing away a few stray strands of Fenris’ snow white hair from his face before tracing down his cheek with his fingertips.

Just as he once again would apologize to Fenris, the elf reached up and gently grasped the hand that was still lingering on his face, holding it tightly as he whispered, “Were you serious before?”

“Before?” Aslan whispered back.

“The night before you left,” Fenris responded, just as quietly as before, his moss green eyes never breaking away from Aslan’s blue ones. “Were you serious?”

Aslan raised his eyebrows in surprise, losing his breath for a moment as he just stared at his lover in silence, having been caught completely by surprise. He found himself unable to say anything, instead responding with a small, genuine smile.

“Then ask me again.”

His smile widened and he let out a quiet laugh. “I think you asking me to propose to you counts as a proposal.”

Fenris didn’t seem to think that it was amusing. “Do you want me to punch you again?” he growled quietly, pushing his brows together and pursing his lips.

“Sorry,” Aslan chuckled.

“No, you’re not.”

He offered an apologetic smile, but he didn’t say anything else for a while, instead moving closer to Fenris, leaning into him, breathing in his scent. Then he took a deep breath and opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was a short, nervous laughter and he shook his head, forcing himself to take another deep breath.

“Will you marry me, Fenris?” Aslan asked in a quiet, barely audible voice, gently lacing his fingers with Fenris’. “I know I’m an insufferable idiot of a mage who makes bad jokes at all the wrong times and I will probably make you want to punch me more times than you’ll care to count.” He took another deep breath, smiling as he heard Fenris let out a scoffing sound, and traced the lyrium tattoos on the elf’s hand with his thumb. “But I also know that you are the love of my life and I am miserable when I’m not with you. My first proposal was spur-of-the-moment and I ruined it by pretending that it was a joke, and I realize that this second one isn’t a lot better, but…” He straightened himself, leaning away from Fenris enough that he could look into his moss green eyes. “But I want nothing more than to be able to call myself your husband. Will you marry me?”

Fenris wrapped his arm around Aslan’s neck, pulling him in, crushing his lips against Hawke’s and they shared their first kiss in what felt like forever. He felt Hawke moving in even closer, tilting his head to the side as his hand reached up and cupped his neck to deepen the kiss.

“Yes,” he breathed out when he pulled away, just far enough that their noses were still touching and their breaths intermingled. “I’ll marry you.”

Once again they came together, the kiss slower and gentler than their first one, but no less filled with need and desire and desperation and this time they didn’t pull apart until Fenris’ lungs were screaming for air and stars dotted his vision.

Hawke leaned his forehead against Fenris’ and closed his eyes, a content grin spreading across his lips as he let out a long breath. “Do you want a small wedding? Or a big one?” he asked, opening his eyes again, his blue eyes seeming even bluer than they ever had been as they looked into his. “We could go to Val Royaux or we could just get married here in the chapel. Do you want me to wear something fancy? A formal uniform? A beautiful wedding dress? Should I be naked?” he fired off the questions in rapid succession, a grin spreading out across his lips. “Should I have flowers in my hair? Oh, could you have flowers in your hair?”

“No!” he growled in response, his eyebrows pushing together and he let out a sigh as his hold on Hawke’s hand tightened slightly.

Aslan peered into his face with a smirk, but when Fenris still didn’t relax, a concerned expression spread across his face. “Fenris?”

“I don’t want a Chantry wedding,” he said quietly, looking up again to meet his lover’s eyes.

“Why not?” Hawke asked with a tilt of his head, eyebrows raised in question.

“I don’t want you anywhere near a Chantry,” he said in a low voice. “Not after how they reacted and blamed you for what Anders did in Kirkwall.”

Aslan let out a soft chuckle. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“They were planning an Exalted March to get _you_ ,” Fenris growled. “They sent a Seeker to Kirkwall to find you so that they could drag you into this war because they thought it was your fault.”

The grin on Hawke’s face widened exponentially and then Fenris felt himself being pulled in for another kiss, feeling Aslan’s lips softly brush against his own. “You’re so cute when you worry about me,” Hawke whispered against his lips. “Then how about we just ask Varric to say a few words and have him marry us?”

“No,” he replied and shook his head slightly. “If we’re going to get married, then I want it to be a real wedding and a real marriage.”

“You’re getting married?!”

Fenris’ head snapped around at the loud voice coming from behind them, seeing Carver standing there, frozen in the spot, eyes wide in surprise and Fenris felt the dread wash over him like a bucket of cold water.

“Why are you so surprised?” Aslan laughed as he turned towards his brother. “I told you that I proposed to Fenris before I left.”

“You mean you whined about him turning your proposal down?” Carver muttered with a roll of his eyes. “Are you seriously getting married?”

“Yes, so be quiet now,” Aslan replied with a wave of his hand, but then he suddenly stopped, a mischievous smirk widening his lips, worrying both his lover and his brother as it seemed like he had gotten an idea. “What about Carver?” he said, turning to Fenris.

“What about him?”

“What about me?”

“Well, you can do it, can’t you?” the older Hawke brother asked, turning to the younger one again. “You can marry us, can’t you? You’re involved with the Chantry stuff, right?”

Carver crossed his arms over his chest, giving his brother an unamused look. “I’m a templar, not a Brother,” he replied, “And the Brother’s in the Chantry don’t even handle weddings.”

Aslan pursed his lips as he continued the staring contest with his brother. “That’s just a small technicality.”

“Please forgive me,” a gentle voice said, interrupting their banter, and they all turned in the direction the voice came from to see an elder woman in Chantry robes standing not far from them. She smiled at them, greeting them with a small bow of her head as she walked over to Carver’s side before she continued. “I couldn’t help overhearing your troubles, and I thought I might offer a solution.”

“Mother Giselle?” the younger Hawke said, and then she tapped his forehead with one of her fingers, causing him to flinch slightly in surprise, wrinkling his nose.

“You are now officially sanctioned to wed your friends, Ser Carver,” Mother Giselle said, her soft smile widening slightly. “Concerning the Chantry, they need not know the specifics of your union. Enjoy your special day and may the Maker bless you.”

The three of them watched her in stunned silence as she walked away, disappearing almost as quickly as she had appeared. And they all stayed silent for a long while after until Aslan uttered a quiet “I like that woman!” causing both his lover and his brother to groan in unison.

“But this means that Carver can marry us,” Aslan said and leaned in to Fenris, pressing his forehead against his lover’s temple. “And you get a real wedding without having to go to a Chantry.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

A few days had passed since Fenris first arrived at Skyhold, and since Hawke’s second proposal to him. Aslan wanted to get married right away, but Carver would only agree to wed the two of them if they let him have a day or two to actually prepare something to say, and the older Hawke had been forced to agree to give him a few days.

Their wedding fell on a warm afternoon, the sun shining clearly outside with not one single cloud on the blue sky, but Fenris noticed none of that as he paced back and forth inside the small chapel. The only other person there was Carver, standing not far from him, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest.

They were waiting for Aslan to join them, as he had told them he would come a few minutes after them when they left, but now, over an hour later, they were still waiting for him, and Fenris was getting more and more anxious by the second, worried that Aslan wasn’t going to come down.

“Would you stop pacing?” Carver groaned and straightened himself, taking a few steps forward. “You’re making me restless.”

Fenris stopped momentarily to shoot him a glare and then run both of his hands through his long hair before continuing to walk up and down in the small chapel again.

“He’ll come,” Carver said with a sigh. “He’s late, but that’s not really unusual.”

This time Fenris stopped pacing completely as he faced Hawke’s younger brother with one eyebrow raised. “Are you trying to comfort me?”

“Shut up.”

Silence fell over them again and once more Fenris started pacing back and forth, trying to come up with some reason, any reason, for what was taking Hawke so long to come down to the chapel.

Carver leaned back against the wall, following the elf with his eyes as he walked up and down for a few moments before saying anything. “Do you actually want to marry my idiot brother?”

Fenris looked up at him again, trying to put on a frown on his face, but failed to keep the corners of his mouth to turn up into a small smile. “I think I actually do want to marry your idiot brother.”

Carver shook his head and scoffed. “Then you’re an idiot too.”

“I guess I am,” he chuckled quietly in reply when the door to the chapel opened behind him and they both turned around to see Hawke finally walking in.

It was a rare sight to see Aslan in clothes that weren’t dirty or patched these days, and Fenris couldn’t help but to think that the white of his shirt a beautiful contrast to his raven hair, the blue silk sash in perfect harmony with his sapphire eyes. His hair had been beautifully braided, daisies and baby’s breath woven in between the strands.

The sight of him was devastating, and Fenris drew in a sharp breath.

A smirk widened Aslan’s lips. “I was hoping that you’d lavish me with compliments,” he said in an amused tone. “But stunned silence works too.”

“I…”

Carver cleared his throat, snapping Fenris back to reality. “Can we skip the lovey-dovey part and just get this done?”

“You’re such a romantic, brother,” Aslan responded in an annoyed voice, giving him a nasty glare before turning to his soon-to-be husband with a genuine smile, taking his lover’s hand in his own, lacing their fingers together, and bringing them up to his lips to place a soft kiss on his hand. “Are you ready?”

Fenris gave him a short nod and a small smile, and they turned to face Carver.

The younger brother took a deep breath, his eyes wandering back and forth between the two of them, and then he began speaking. “Today there will be no dearly beloved, betrothed or ancient verses of the Chant. Today is not about the words or the rings, nor is it about grand pronouncements and recessional marches. This day is about love, a day where promises become permanent and friends become family.”

“You’re so well-spoken, Carver!” Aslan exclaim, earning angry looks from both his younger brother and elven lover. “I didn’t know you had it in you!”

“Shut up or I won’t do this,” Carver growled, and Aslan held up his hands in front of him, an apologetic, crooked grin on his face. Carver sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose before continuing. “Love is genuine, sincere, and open. Compassionate and kind. Passionate and blind. There is love between lovers, the love between parents and children, between brother and sisters and family, and love between friends.”

Fenris felt Hawke tighten his hold on his hand, and he looked up to Aslan’s face to see his lover’s eyes glistening with tears that threatened to spill at any moment, and Fenris squeezed his hand back just as tightly, causing Aslan to turn and face him, a small, genuine smile curving his lips.

“It’s obvious to anyone with eyes that you love each other as lovers do,” Carver said in an unusually soft voice. “You can see it in every look, every touch, and every moment that you’re together. But I also know that you love each other as friends. You’re constantly laughing and taunting and teasing and very plainly and obviously having fun when you are together. That love and enjoyment of each other as best friends will sustain you through this marriage.”

Aslan drew in a deep breath, quickly wiping the corner of his eye with his fingers as he cleared his throat and said in a slightly unsteady voice, “That was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard, Carver…” A grin tugged the corners of his mouth. “And it came out of y-”

“Only say the rest of that sentence if you want me to punch you in your face,” Carver interrupted him, a steady glare shot at his older brother.

“I’ll be quiet,” he replied with a crooked smirk.

Carver rolled his eyes before turning his gaze over to Fenris. “Do you, Fenris, take my idiot brother, to love and cherish, to put up with his horrible, badly-timed jokes and not punch him in the face more than necessary, for as long as you both live?”

Fenris gave him a wry smile before turning to look up at Aslan. “I do.”

Aslan’s smirk softened and he raised his hand, brushing a white lock of hair behind his pointed ear.

“And do you, Aslan, take this broody elf, to love and cherish, to annoy and drag into Maker-knows-what, for as long as you both live?”

“I do,” he answered almost even before Carver finished speaking.

“Then in the name of the Maker, I now declare you husband and husband. You may now kiss.”

Aslan leaned in closer to Fenris, cupping his neck and tracing his jawline with his thumb. “I’m your husband now,” he whispered, his eye glimmering in the soft light of the chapel as he looked at Fenris as if he was viewing the greatest marvel he had ever seen.

When he cupped Aslan’s cheek, he heard him gasp faintly, and his eyes fluttered shut as Fenris brushed his thumb brushed the corner of his mouth, his lips parting just slightly and he gently tugged him in closer. “Yes. You are,” he answered quietly, just before their lips softly collided and he closed his eyes.

They kissed slowly, tasting each other oh so carefully, sharing their first kiss as husbands, and when they pulled apart, Aslan smiled more brightly than ever before, before leaning in again to place a quick peck on his lips.

“I love you,” Aslan breathed, running his fingers through Fenris’ long hair, his eyes slowly fluttering shut.

“I love you, too,” Fenris whispered back, gently tugging him back down into a second slow, sweet kiss.


End file.
